3 Poems by Isabelle Davis

Isabelle Davis

backwoods dark

on tuesday the Dog barked at the trap door & she did not stop for three hours & the guy who lives underneath us texted me to say that he knew that this building shouldn’t allow dogs and i did not text back because he is obnoxious. then i opened the trap door and Climbed in with my flashlight.

it was backwoods dark in there.

my flashlight did not carry the distance i thought it should. my dog stopped barking and walked in front of me. we walked straight ahead for two hours until my Light caught a corner of a box & then it caught a pillow & then more pillows & every inch of space that my light covered it Stayed in.

it had no where to travel to.

inside the box were Letters. they all said “it’s hard for me to apologize but i would Become a Map for you.”

my dog and i laid down. my dog and i forgave. my dog and i slept.

tell them other motherfuckers be quiet

do you like my socks? they’re from when i played

softball & thought i was straight but you can

have them if you want them baby

you can have whatever you like. you can have my

lips too i will leave them on your shoulder

where they won’t tickle you but they might

make you moan at inappropriate times.

that’s what i would want. don’t worry about

overwatering the cactus i gave you it’s kinda like me

a little needy & it thrives on attention.

i can’t be overheld.

they have never felt this way

we lit candles in our treehouse & when the wind lifted it & us out

of our tree it did not whip us around in the way i expected.

the candles floated as if they were in zero gravity but i’m not sure

if a flame would catch in zero gravity so maybe it wasn’t like

anything other than what it was.

we fucked in the treehouse & i’m not sure if that put us in the

mile high club because the tornado did not announce the altitude

as we reached it.

that’s not a metaphor for anything though we flew in the sky like

paper & the tornado let us down fourty-five minutes later all in

one piece & shaking from each other & featherless chickens

pecked the ground around us.

isabelle davis is an associate editor with big lucks books, an editor for probably crying review, and a pushcart nominated, chicago based writer. her first chapbook is called I’M SORRY BECAUSE THIS IS NOT ABOUT SEX. work can be found in alice blue review, quaint, the NewerYork, punctuate, and others. find her on twitter @verytinygalaxy.